Advice to a Friend, Part 9
IX.
AND that you may be the more humbly confident both of Gods continued goodneſs, and your own fidelity and the more fit likewiſe for pious Meditations; labour, I intreat you, as much as ever you can, to maintain a conſtant chearfulneſs of ſpirit, and lightſomneſs of heart. Without this, it will be always night with you, or but a cold Winters day; and as you will have no liſt either for meditation or any other employment, ſo you will be apt to live in perpetual ſuſpicion of God, and of your Friends, and of your ſelf.
Melancholy is a dull lumpiſh humour, which makes us of a frozen diſpoſition, and a Leaden temper. It inclines us not only to think worſe of our ſelves than we are, but to do worſe than otherwiſe we ſhould. It repreſents thoſe things as exceeding difficult, which may be done with eaſe; and thoſe as impoſſible, which have in them any conſiderable difficulty. It benums and ſtupifies our Souls; and will let us feel nothing but it ſelf. It quite diſpirits us, and will not ſuffer us to do any thing, becauſe it imagines we cannot ſtir. It ſhows us to our ſelves in an ugly Glaſs; and then no wonder we look amiſs upon all things elſe. Some things it makes to appear bigger than they are; and then all the reſt appear leſs. And having conceived them otherways than they are, it nouriſhes the conceit till we believe it real.
As under the weight of ſome ſluggiſh matter in the blood, a man ſometimes fancies his Arms are as big as Poſts, and then his Hands ſeem as heavy as a Pig of Lead, and he thinks he is unable to lift them up to his Head: ſo it is with our minds, when they are oppreſſed with the burden of a ſad and melancholy humour. It makes all our duty ſeem very great, and our ſtrength to be none at all. All impediments it renders as big as Mountains; but our ſelves not of force enough to remove a ſtraw. It firſt binds up all the powers of the Soul, and then will not let them be unlooſed. It makes us very fearful of that, which it perſwades us we cannot avoid. And it afflicts us for that, which yet it makes us fancy we cannot do. In an heat it puſhes us forward; but ſuddenly it cools, and ſays we cannot go. If it catch fire it makes us wild; and when it hath ſpent that flame, it leaves us ſots and fools. It pricks us forward ſometimes to an enterprize; but it ſelf is the ſhackles and fetters that will not let us move.
This heavineſs you muſt take heed of, and give no indulgence to it: For it is the worm of the mind (as one of the Antients expreſſes it) which eateth up its Parent that brought it forth. Contrary to the nature of other births, it pleaſes us much, when we bring it forth, but proves a miſerable torment to us, as ſoon as it is born. Melancholy muſings, I mean, are at firſt a very delightful entertainment to the mind; but they grow in a little time to be a very troubleſome brood. They are a dangerous maze, in which a Man may eaſily loſe himſelf, and from whence he cannot, without much difficulty, get forth. Honey is not ſweet to a feaveriſh man; nor are the ſweeteſt truths acceptable to the ſad. Clogs are not a greater impediment to the Feet, than this humour to the motions of the Soul. The eyes are not more darkned with ſome kind of fumes and vapours, than the underſtanding is with its black imaginations. The Ayr is not more poyſoned, when it is charged with a thick and ſtinking miſt, than the mind is offenſive to it ſelf and others, when it is buried in its Clouds. And as the Sun, when it looks through a Fog, ſeems as if it were all bloody: So do the faireſt objects, even God himſelf, appear in a diſmal and horrid ſhape, when theſe ſullen exhalations gather about us.
Labour then continually to diſperſe them, and blow them away by ſuch means as you find, by experience, to be moſt available to that purpoſe. For chearfulneſs cauſes the Soul to breath in a pure Air; and to dwell in a wholſome and ſweet incloſure. It makes our work ſeem eaſie, and difficulties ſeem little, and God ſeem good, and ſo our ſtrength ſeem great and irreſiſtable. It inlightens the mind, it incourages the heart, it adds wings to the affections: and therefore he that forbids it to our Souls, keeps out the welcomeſt Gueſt, and the beſt Friend that Nature hath. It misbeſeems none but the wicked, in whom it is commonly a light mirth and a fooliſh jollity. As you ſee fine ornaments and curious dreſſes ſet off an handſome Face, though they render thoſe who are ugly more ill-favoured: So doth chearfulneſs exceedingly become good Souls, though in bad men it be moſt ridiculous.
For which cauſe, it is neither unmeet to uſe any helps that Nature affords us to acquire it; nor to call in the aſſiſtance of innocent arts and pretty inventions to invite it to keep us company. Socrates bluſhed not to be found at Boyes-play with his Children. The wiſe and ſolemn Cato ſometimes ſtooped to be a little frollick. The great Scipio thought it not unbecoming his triumphal body (as Seneca calls it) to uſe grave dances, and trip about a Room in decent meaſures. Some devout men indeed have pronounced of ſuch like paſtimes, as Phyſicians do of Muſhromes, that the beſt ordered are worth nothing: but they did not mean ſure to decry all thoſe pleaſures which of themſelves are indifferent, and which the intention alone can render good, as well as evil. You ought not to refuſe any ingenious or harmleſs recreations, which you find will cheriſh or refreſh your ſpirit; though by Souls of a dark complexion they be deemed fooleries. It is too great a burden to impoſe on your ſelf ſuch reſtraints, as not to dare ſo much as laugh; for fear of giving occaſion of ſuſpicion to the weak, or of ſlander to the wicked. But ſince a ſpirit free and full of life is moſt uſeful, being indued with more ſtrength and ability than any other, it ought to be preſerved in its alacrity; and when it droops and languiſhes be excited to recover its chearfulneſs again.
I know you do not think it a crime to laugh; nor are you in love with a ſtudied face. You are none of thoſe who take innocence and ſeverity to be ſuch inſeparable companions, that they can never be found aſunder: nor that judg a free carriage to be a certain ſign of an ill mind; and a merry humour to be a conſtant token of levity of ſpirit, or want of judgment. But I deſire that you would not only think it lawful, but neceſſary, to be pleaſant; and that you would by no means ſuffer your ſelf to become ſad, under the notion of being ſerious. The Ancient Chriſtians were ſo cautious in this Point, that we read in Palladius of an old Hermite, who, having five hundred Scholars, would never diſmiſs them without this Leſſon, My Friends be chearful; do not forget, I beſeech you, to be chearful. This was his conſtant lecture; which he repeated as often as St. John did thoſe words (which he is reported always to have had in his mouth) My little Children, love one another. He took it, I ſuppoſe, out of St. Paul, who gives this admonition thrice to the Philippians, III. 1. IV. 4. Rejoyce in the Lord. Rejoyce in the Lord always; and again I ſay rejoyce. It is an unſeemly thing for you to be ſad and heavy, who ſerve ſo good a Maſter, from whom you ſhall receive the reward of an Eternal Inheritance. If they that traffick in earthly Goods rejoyce in an advantageous bargain; Why ſhould not Religious People, whoſe Merchandiſe is Wiſdome (a choiſer thing than Silver or Gold) who have many divine bleſſings already in poſſeſſion, and are in certain hope of more and greater; cheriſh a perpetual joy, and ever be of good comfort?
By which you may ſee, whence we are to derive our chearfulneſs, and to what we muſt be principally beholden for it. It ſprings out of an hearty and ſolid belief of the bleſſed Goſpel, and out of a ſincere obedience to it; and increaſes with our growth in ſpiritual knowledg and underſtanding, and in love to God, and all our Brethren. All which, it would be eaſie to ſhow you, is comprehended in thoſe words of the Apoſtle to the Coloſſians, 11.2, 3. where he expreſſes his earneſt deſire for them, and other Chriſtian People, that their hearts might be comforted, being knit together in love, and unto all riches of the full aſſurance of underſtanding, to the acknowledgment of the myſtery of God, and of the Father, and of Chriſt; in whom are hid all the Treaſures of Wiſdom and Knowledge.
But when our natural ſpirits fail and ſink within us, we muſt uſe natural remedies to recruit them and raiſe them up again. None are to be rejected which are not ſinful; or will endanger to make us ſo. But thoſe eſpecially are to be choſen, which will chear the Body, and yet do no injury, but rather prove beneficial, to the Mind. Of which ſort I ſhall recommend one to you, when I have concluded this Advice, as I have done the reſt, with a ſhort Prayer to God.
A PRAYER.
O Father of Mercies, and God of all comfort: who haſt given us everlaſting conſolation; and good hope through thy grace in Chriſt Jeſus. Bleſſed be thy abundant love, which hath exceeded towards us in him, beyond all our deſires. O how excellent is thy loveing kindneſs, O God, which hath ſo bleſſed us with all ſpiritual bleſſings in Chriſt Jeſus, that it is become our duty to rejoyce in him alway, and to be exceeding glad, even in the midſt of all the troubles of this life! O that I could keep ſuch a perpetual and freſh remembrance of his benefits in my mind, as may make me rejoyce evermore! That ſo I may recommend the Religion of our Lord Jeſus to all others; and teſtify to all the World, by my alacrity in doing and ſuffering his bleſſed will, that his Yoke is eaſie, and his burden is light.
Poſſeſs me with ſuch right notions and apprehenſions of thee, and bleſs me alſo with ſuch integrity of heart; that I may both have the peace of a good conſcience, which is a continual feaſt, and be filled likewiſe with joy in the Holy-Ghoſt, out of a ſenſe of thy divine favour to me, which is better than life it ſelf. Deliver me both from unprofitable ſadneſs, and from vain mirth. Preſerve me conſtantly in an equal tranquillity of mind, and a becoming chearfulneſs of ſpirit. Bear me up, I beſeech thee, above all the afflictions which may befall me, by the joyes of faith, and hope, and love. And when I ſhall need the relief of inferiour pleaſures; O that they may never make me loſe the taſt of Heavenly delights; but rather diſpoſe me, by the refreſhments of my body, to a more lively diſcharge of all my duty, and to a quicker ſenſe of all divine enjoyments. And teach me to be ſo wiſe in the choice of my pleaſures, that they may not leave me ſad afterward: but I may remain innocent and unblameable before thee, and be better pleaſed alſo in the humble expectation of the times of refreſhment, which ſhall come from the Preſence of our Lord.
Amen.